


i'll be here for you

by statusquo_ergo



Series: it's not pain, it's just uncertainty [4]
Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Declarations Of Love, Feelings Realization, M/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-10-05 01:56:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10294859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/statusquo_ergo/pseuds/statusquo_ergo
Summary: Accompanying Mike to Rene's for his wedding suit fitting, Harvey tries to come to terms with things.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt:
> 
> I HAVE! A LOT ACTUALLY! Harvey helping Mike picking up a suit for the wedding at Renes. And like he eould look at Mike trying one and just knows... like not realizing he loves him, but accepting, embracing it. He would just get lost in his thoughts for a moment and Mike would go like "Harvey? What do you think?" and... i'll leave to you to continue. Happy ending pleaseee

It’s a long drive over to Rene’s.

Actually it’s not, not even close, but Harvey lost his sense of temporal recognition sometime during the brief trip from his condo to Mike and Rachel’s place; once Mike slides into the backseat beside him with a giddy little bounce, biting down on a perfectly innocent smile, the next fifteen minutes somehow both stretch out to three hours and condense to approximately zero seconds. Then Mike grins at Harvey and opens the car door again, and Harvey thinks he pauses for a second or two before he gets out (which would be confusing if true), but at this point it’s impossible to know for sure (so it doesn’t mean anything).

Mike has the good graces to hold the shop door open and allow Harvey to enter first; Harvey gifts him a gracious little quirk of his lips, and Rene is upon them the moment the door snicks shut.

“Harvey,” he dotes, stepping forward with his hands clasped behind his back. “Come to discuss a new palette for the upcoming season?”

“Not today,” Harvey says with as much authority as he can muster, given the circumstances. “Rene, you remember Mike Ross.”

“But of course,” Rene says smoothly, turning his attention to Mike with far more respect than he probably did when they first met. The man knows good taste; he can see how far Mike’s come. (Harvey smiles proudly.)

“Interested in opening your own account, Mister Ross?”

Mike laughs clumsily; to his credit, Rene seems unaffected.

“I don’t think so,” Mike tries to recover. “I’m getting married, actually, and I figured if I wanted to look my best, I needed to…go to the best.”

Good boy.

The polite deference in Rene’s smile softens his features for only a moment before it’s time to get down to business. Ushering Mike to the fitting area, hidden away in the back behind a subtle corner, Rene begins flicking through a rack of sample suits, commenting a little snidely that the measurements he has on file from Mike’s last fitting are surely outdated, but at least the fabric will hang better this time around that he’s not such a little slip of a thing.

Mike doesn’t look even remotely offended, craning his neck to survey the samples for himself, and Harvey marvels silently at how well he’s begun to fit into this world. It’s no wonder, of course; he’s always belonged here.

Abruptly, Rene stops muttering under his breath and pulls three suits from the rack; holding a decent brown one up in front of Mike, he furrows his brow and then scowls briefly, putting it back and taking a darker blue in its stead. Harvey nods his approval at the swap, not that anyone’s paying attention.

“In this order,” Rene directs, handing the suits to Mike one by one. “Come along, _Mister_ Ross,” he presses when Mike only holds them nervously, “I am a busy man.”

Mike nods and looks around for a chair or something to lay the two remaining suits on in the meantime; when Harvey offers his arms, he smiles widely in relief and hands them over.

Harvey steps back to wait.

“Glen plaid,” Rene says as Mike buttons the jacket of the first suit, a nice neutral grey number that reminds Harvey of Roger Thornhill. “Pay no mind to the fit, this is obviously a mere trial run, but you strike me as a man who has a healthy respect for something with a bit of history behind it.”

Gripping the lapels, Mike turns slowly and looks back over his shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His lips are parted slightly, his eyes focused but just a touch narrowed, and Harvey has no trouble understanding his thoughts; he likes it but doesn’t love it, and he’s afraid to upset Rene by disagreeing with his taste. Mike is right—the suit is a nice shade, and the cut will work well on him once it’s fitted properly, but there’s something too somber about it for the occasion, too business-formal. This should be a happy day, the happiest of Mike’s life, and his suit ought to reflect that.

For a minute there, Harvey remembers Mike’s splitting smile, his child-like wonder when he’d passed on that simple message, _You got in_ , and reminds himself that Mike’s happiness is the most important thing. (That’s why we’re here, after all.)

Rene must see Mike’s hesitancy too, because he shakes his head and gestures for Mike to remove the ensemble.

“Not a soul will appreciate it in context,” he admonishes, “this won’t do at all. Go on now, the notch lapel.”

Mike looks blankly at Harvey, who has the good sense to pass over the other grey suit; this one is darker and without pattern, and Harvey hopes to god it fits Mike to a T because he has nothing but respect for Rene’s eye for color and tailoring, but Harvey’s been present for enough of Mike’s five-year fashion odyssey to know that the strong shoulders and high armholes will flatter Mike’s figure perfectly, and that dark grey makes the boy’s eyes light up like a night sky full of stars.

Well that’s a hell of a thing to notice.

The whole journey has been quite the adventure, hasn’t it.

From the very first day, dumping his plastic bags of pot all over Harvey’s meeting room at the Chilton, Mike has put a spark in Harvey that he’s been missing since… He isn’t even sure how to finish the thought. It probably hasn’t been missing “since” anything, whatever it is that Mike adds to his life; it’s all Mike, irreplaceable and incontrovertible. His cockiness that’s been tempered with practice and defeat into a more dignified self-confidence, but never quite lost its edge; his enthusiasm for life that’s only grown the more he’s seen of the intricacies of the world outside his own experiences; his determination in the face of overwhelming odds to protect the things and the people he holds dear, to always do the right thing, or the wrong thing for the right reasons…

There has never been a man quite like Michael James Ross.

“Harvey?”

Harvey looks up at Mike on the fitting stage.

Whatever happens, from now on to whenever, he’ll probably love him ‘til the end of time.

Mike twists his spine and then tries to stand up straight, smoothing down front panels and raising his chest with some dignity.

“So?”

Handing the remaining blue suit back to Rene to return to the rack, Harvey crosses his arms over his chest. Yeah; this is the one, alright. It’ll run up some kind of bill—he estimates about five thousand, give or take—but it’s worth it.

“What do you think?” Mike presses a little nervously at Harvey’s lack of response.

Here we are, at the end of the line.

Just give me a second, kid.

This’ll take some getting used to.

It takes a little more than a second, but Harvey smiles and nods, small enough that Mike has to pay attention to catch it; he will, Harvey knows he will, knows it in the grin that breaks out on his face in response, the comfort with which he puts his hands in the trouser pockets, the relief in his relaxing posture. The sparkle in his eyes, like a night full of stars.

Rene’s assistant appears out of thin air to take Mike’s measurements quickly and efficiently, and Harvey slips his credit card to Rene during a particularly distracted moment; Mike catches him all the same and Harvey raises his hand to stem any potential protests.

“Don’t worry about it,” he insists. “All part of being the best man.”

Mike is about to say something anyway before he thinks better of it. His face falls, just a touch, like he’s worried about something; Harvey hopes it isn’t the money. Whatever the final tally comes to, it’ll be worth it to see that smile on Mike’s face again as he stands in front of Harvey’s windows, maybe on the balcony if it’s a nice day, backlit by the city they both call home, on the happiest day of his life.

Yeah.

Mike steps down off the stage, shrugging out of the jacket.

“So, Harvey,” he says as he finishes putting his own trousers back on. “What’s wrong?”

Harvey stares, momentarily at a loss—surely he isn’t so transparent—and then smiles as though the question is absurd.

“Nothing,” he says, the weakest of defenses. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“So I know that’s not true,” Mike replies, unbuttoning his cuffs to roll up his sleeves. “But how long is this gonna take? Ballpark.”

Harvey shakes his head; they’re not discussing this now. Not ever, but especially not now.

“Nothing’s wrong, Mike, don’t worry about it.”

“ _Harvey._ ”

God dammit.

Shrugging, Harvey tries to come up with something that won’t sound too self-incriminating. ( _This isn’t about you._ )

“You’ve come pretty far,” he says. “I’m proud of you, kid.”

For a minute, Mike’s face is completely blank; he looks at Harvey like he doesn’t know quite what to make of him, like he’s just been given some important information that he isn’t sure how he’s meant to react to. Then it clears, and the pit in Harvey’s stomach lightens.

“It took almost six years,” he teases; “I was this close to giving up, but here we are: Harvey Specter has _feelings._ ”

This again.

This is safer ground; this, they know how to do.

“Don’t go spreading that around,” Harvey warns, raising his eyebrows, and Mike laughs.

“It’s on the record now,” he says, “no take-backs; can I get it in writing, I’d like to have it notarized.”

“Not gonna happen.”

Mike laughs again, but it trails off weakly; his eyes dim a shade or two, and though he’s still smiling, some of the luster is gone. They’re not kidding around anymore, and it was wrong to pretend.

Rene steps forward with his hands behind his back and an authoritative coolness to his expression.

“Four weeks,” he dictates. “You will be notified upon the suit’s completion and we’ll expect you to retrieve it in a timely manner.”

Mike blinks.

“Oh—thanks,” he fumbles. “Thank you.”

Rene nods, eyeing them for a moment before he turns to the back of the shop and disappears. Harvey pats imaginary dust from his thighs.

Mike looks at the tie racks.

“Shouldn’t I be happier?” he asks idly, and Harvey frowns.

“What’s wrong?”

Mike sighs.

“Nothing,” he says. “That’s the thing, nothing’s wrong and I’m getting married to a wonderful woman and I got into the Bar and all my dreams are coming true and I should be…happier, right?”

Harvey steps into Mike’s eyeline and thinks about putting his hand on his arm (but he doesn’t).

“Is everything okay?”

“ _Yes,_ ” Mike insists, “everything is _perfect,_ but I…I dunno. Something’s…missing, or something.”

He looks into Harvey’s eyes then, and Harvey’s definitely imagining it this time, but it’s almost as though he finds a little of what he’s looking for (whatever it is).

“Are _you_ happy?”

Oh, Mike, don’t ask me that.

Harvey does clap his hand down on Mike’s shoulder now, affirming and steadying and trying to remind them (himself) what’s real, what’s important.

“I’m happy for you,” he says. “Like you said, you’re getting everything you want, and…I’m proud of you. I am.”

“You don’t think I’m settling?”

If that isn’t straight out of left field. Harvey shifts back, just a bit, and drops his hand.

“I thought you and Rachel were happy together,” he says, because this isn’t about the job, can’t be about the job (not when Mike is back where he belongs). “Did she say something?”

Mike laughs under his breath. “No, but you kind of did.”

_Shit, shit, shit—_

Harvey tries to convey skeptical derision, hoping none of the panic shows through. He didn’t say anything, did he? (When?) No, definitely no. (Did he?)

“I don’t think so.”

“It’s not what you said,” Mike clarifies, “but—just now, when I was trying on the suits, you had this… I don’t know how to describe it. This expression.” He shakes his head with a little smile and directs his next commentary out the storefront windows. “My grandmother used to get it sometimes, when she’d given me something that had been hard to find, or hard for her to get; like she was happy I was happy, like all her sacrifices had been worth it because I was getting something I really wanted, something that was important to me.”

Harvey’s answering smile is tight-lipped and narrow; he and Edith would have been good friends, he’s pretty sure. He’s sorry he didn’t have the chance to get to know her.

There’s a hardness to Mike’s stare when he turns back to Harvey, a set determination that Harvey doesn’t know what to do with.

“Am I missing out on something I don’t have to be?”

Harvey’s been in this game long enough to know when an opportunity isn’t going to come around again. All the signs are there; the singularity of the surrounding circumstances, the trepidation of the other party, the risk inherent in taking the plunge, in saying “Yes,” the knowledge that there’s no turning back once he does.

It’s a yes-or-no question, man.

Harvey steels himself and holds onto the tightness in his chest.

“Mike,” he says. “If there’s anything more I can do to make you happy; you got it.”

It’s as much admission as he’s capable of giving at this moment. Mike searches his face with those skylight eyes of his; he knows the same, knows that they’re about to dive over the edge of a cliff without knowing how long the fall will last.

His smile is small and uncertain, but that’s okay. (I’m scared, too.)

There’s just enough of a lead-in for Harvey to back away if he really wants, but that would be ridiculous; then Mike’s hands hold his head steady as he leans in and damn, the boy knows how to kiss.

Harvey brings his arm up around Mike’s shoulders, drawing him in, holding him close, and it feels terribly sensationalist even though it really isn’t. They’re behind a row of mannequins decked out to the nines, and anyway, no one spares them a single glance, no one gives a fuck; no one understands how tremendous this is, how abruptly the world has been tipped on its axis. Righted.

Harvey opens his eyes a moment before they part; Mike keeps his closed for a moment after as he drops his hands away.

“Uh-oh,” he says quietly, but he’s smiling as he does.

Harvey rubs his thumb up and down over Mike’s shoulder.

“You’ve got about a month before your suit’s ready,” he murmurs, and Mike nods.

“Kind of sucks that it happened this way,” he says. The corner of Harvey’s mouth quirks into a smirk.

“What can I say,” he offers, “I was tired of waiting.”

Mike bursts out laughing, raising his hand to Harvey’s neck and leaving it there as he looks away, regaining his bearings.

“Oh, god, I love you,” he says carelessly; Harvey waits for the retraction, the “oh shit” moment after he hears himself, but it never comes. They’re bigger than those stupid clichés, anyway.

“I’m following your lead here,” Harvey informs him, because this is fun and all, but there’s the real world out there with its real world consequences waiting for the chance to eat them alive. Mike nods, his jaw clenching surreptitiously.

“I’ll do you proud,” he replies.

Harvey kisses him again, quickly.

No doubt about that.

**Author's Note:**

> [Roger Thornhill](http://neveryetmelted.com/wp-images/CaryGrantSuit1.jpg) (Cary Grant), the protagonist of North by Northwest (1959), iconically wears a grey Glen plaid suit.
> 
> [This](https://cdnd.lystit.com/400/500/n/photos/2012/06/06/dior-homme-black-18cm-wool-toile-two-button-suit-product-2-3852219-881543609.jpeg) is a black version of the suit Mike ends up buying. (More accurately, it’s [this](http://media.gq.com/photos/581a7bd2a36741ab13832363/master/w_500/best-stuff-grey-suit-09.jpg), but in that picture it’s just draped over a chair.)
> 
> Title from "Hey #3/ Perfect for You" from _Next to Normal_ (2008).


End file.
